


There Are Worse Games To Play

by DarkPhoenix1578



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Awkward Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-16 16:06:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11256357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkPhoenix1578/pseuds/DarkPhoenix1578
Summary: The spiders were bad. The hounds were really bad.Having a giant one eyed deer chase him was exceptionally terrible.Naturally, the insufferable, smirking man in a suit with stupid cigars who brought him here in the first place had to be included in the mix, too. And he was by far the worst of them all.





	1. Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> A restart on a story I had previously uploaded a while ago but deleted because I did not like where it was going.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson's time in the "Sandbox" begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Most of the chapters in this fic will be fairly short and will be told primarily from Wilson's POV, although I shall occasionally switch to Maxwell's POV just to freshen the story up a bit.

At first, everything felt like nothing. That was the weirdest part, Wilson would later muse to himself. How could _anything_  feel like nothing? One moment, his senses and his entire being were in a motionless, tasteless, senseless void. The next moment, a sudden, tingling warmth that could only be described as the sun is slowly waking him up. Life, which seemed to have abandoned him for however long, sprung rapidly back into his body.

Grass tickled his fingers and his toes. A gentle breeze coasted through his wavy, black hair. The sound of birds chirping cheerfully, a sudden shock to the previous absence of sound, jolted his eyes open, which strained at the light and color suddenly assaulting his vision. Shapes swayed back and forth as he turned his head this way and that, trying to make out his surroundings. 

"Say, pal," someone said, "you don't look so good." 

Wilson reflexively tensed up and jerked, sitting up and groaning as his vision wobbled. He blinked repeatedly, attempting to ground his eyesight as his hands gripped onto the soft grass beneath him. The black, incomprehensible shape in front of him gradually took the form of a tall, thin man. He wore a black, striped suit, with a red flower pinned on his lapel. The man's face was long and slender, with a sharply pointed chin. Wilson blinked, staring up into two black, soulless eyes which peered down at him in nonchalant amusement. The man raised a hand to his face, a cigar firmly grasped between two fingers, and puffed casually on it. 

"You better find something to eat before night falls." The man's voice was smooth and quiet, swamped in overtones of disdain and haughtiness.

Wilson arched an eyebrow, leaning heavily on his arms as he watched the man smirk, throwing his cigar to the ground and squishing it with a polished shoe. 

"Who are you?" the scientist asked. "Where am I? What am I doing here? Why-" He flinched as something long and dark sprung from the ground and clutched at his chin, interrupting his questions. Wilson shut his mouth, feeling the shadowy entity pinch at his jaw. 

The man walked a few quick steps forward and crouched down so his face was more or less level with Wilson's. The young scientist stared, his brain taking in and analyzing the lines on the man's face, the callous curve to his crooked smile, and the dark abyss of the man's eyes.  _A face made for cruelty,_ Wilson thought with a shiver. 

"The name's Maxwell," the man spoke. Wilson's nostrils flared and he grimaced, taking in the heavy stench of cigar emanating from the man's mouth. "And I am the one who brought you here." 

Memories flashed vaguely in Wilson's mind. He had been working on the machine; someone on the radio had spoken to him, promising him knowledge-

"That was  _you?"_ Wilson exclaimed. 

Maxwell's smirk became a wide, unfriendly grin. "It was fun, conversing with you through that small little noise box but when the machine was finished, I wanted to see this "Gentleman Scientist" for myself." 

Wilson flushed at the nickname. He opened his mouth to reply, but the shadowy tendril wrapped around his mouth this time, tightening when Wilson made noises of annoyance and frustration. "Ah, don't be like that, pal!" Maxwell laughed, patting him sharply on the shoulder. "You said you wanted knowledge! And what a better place to acquire that than here, in my personal...sandbox, of sorts." 

The older man stood up. Whatever had been covering Wilson's mouth dissipated and the scientist coughed, cringing at the taste of ash that lingered on his lips. 

"I should not give up all of my secrets on the first day, hmm?" Maxwell said, smirking at the bewildered expression on Wilson's face and the countless questions dancing in his eyes. "Wouldn't you agree? And besides, there are some secrets you should discover yourself." 

The man turned around, beginning to walk away. 

"Wait!" Wilson cried, wincing at the strain in his muscles as his body protested him getting onto his feet. "Don't leave me here!" 

Maxwell half turned, twisting his body around to chuckle at the younger man's alarm. "Oh, don't worry, pal; I won't go very far. In fact, I will be closer than you think." With a last smirk, he twisted back around and then disappeared in a flash of smoke and dust, leaving Wilson standing confused. 

Wilson looked around him, still trying to understand just why exactly he had been brought here. He spotted a clump of berry bushes in the distance, with a couple of carrots sticking out of the ground. Feeling his stomach give a short grumble, Wilson shrugged. "Better start here if anywhere." 


	2. One Mistake Down, Many More To Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first mistake of many Wilson will make.

If Wilson were to be completely honest with himself, stealing food from a village of bipedal pigs had not been his smartest idea. His first warning should have been the fact that they were all wearing grass skirts. His second warning should have been the mound of purple meaty substance lying on the ground, apparently having been harvested from what appeared to be a now ransacked and dismantled spider den. An overly large spider den, that is, which housed equally overly large spiders. 

Wilson's third warning should have been common sense; however, curiosity and hunger had won over any thoughts of quietly observing the behavior of the pigs in order to better gauge a plan of action. That would have made too much sense. 

It had been a couple of nights since the scientist's initial encounter with Maxwell. The nights were short but cold and there were a fair amount of berry bushes and carrots to be plucked, ripe and ready for eating. Much to Wilson's dismay, however, the berries lasted only a short while before spoiling and the carrots only aided in delaying the inevitable pangs of starvation he was now currently feeling. Ripples of pain raged uncomfortably in his stomach and Wilson stood by the edge of the pig village, watching enviously as the pigs took turns devouring the rancid smelling but copious amount of meat on the ground. 

As of yet, he had yet to catch any of the elusive, irritating rabbits that roamed the fields. Turkeys were virtually impossible to catch  _and_ they devoured berry bushes like nobody's business. And it was safe to say that attacking the pigs probably would not be the safest plan. 

But Wilson wanted that meat. 

 _The pigs can cannibalize on each other for all I care!_ Wilson thought angrily, as he shoved around items in his recently crafted backpack.  _They can find all the spiders they want and eat meat from them; that meat is mine now._

Wilson waited for the pigs to disperse, a few running back to their shed homes with alarmed squeals as dusk finally settled. The sun turned the grass a deep brownish red and the shadows from the trees grew long and jagged along the ground. Wilson waited a few more moments and then dashed for the pile of meat still laying on the ground. He noticed two other pigs still outside - this should have been his fourth clue something was wrong - but paid no mind to them. He hastily began picking up the raw, purple morsels and throwing them in his sack. 

That was when things went very, horribly wrong. 

Wilson glanced up as the two pigs outside screamed, eyes widening as he watched their pink, oily skin become covered in thick, brown fur. Their eyes widened, their tusks and teeth elongated, and their behavior suddenly became erratic and angry. One of the pigs saw him, meat dangling in his hands as he stared at them in horror, and let out a fierce and terrible shriek. The other made a similar noise and they began rushing him, their short hairy arms held above their heads in pig-like fury. 

Wilson yelled a curse and dropped the slabs of meat. He hoisted his backpack onto his shoulders and sped down the dirt path leading away from the pig village. 

The young scientist panted as he sprinted down the path, eyes frantically scanning any signs for a safe haven from the transformed pigs currently chasing him. He glanced behind him and felt fear induced bile rise in his throat as he saw the blood and foam frothing from the corners of their mouths. 

 _All I wanted was something to eat!_ Wilson moaned to himself. 

The sky was becoming darker and darker and Wilson realized he would need to make a camp soon. That would be difficult to do, considering the bloodthirsty creatures slowly gaining ground on him and chasing him with vicious screams. Wilson's eyes caught something white and he glanced through the trees. There was another spider den up the path, with spiders crawling around close by. Their multitude of eyes flashed with hostility and they let out harsh screeches, as if sensing the approaching 'party'. 

Wilson grit his teeth.  _Pick the least of two evils._ He picked up speed, hearing the pigs behind him grunting and screaming. He felt a heavy pant of breath behind him and knew it was only a matter of time before they reached him. 

"Spiders!" he shouted, drawing one of them away from the nest with his voice. It reared back at first, waving its legs in front of its face. "Kill the pigs!" 

The other two spiders joined their brother and watched idly for a moment as Wilson ran past the nest, tripping and skidding over the sticky silk lying upon the ground. The pigs rushed past two, still screaming. And then all three spiders screeched at once and began trailing after the pigs. 

Wilson looked behind him and almost groaned, wanting to face palm. The spiders weren't even attacking the pigs; they were chasing  _him!_ Their angry, beady eyes tracked him, fangs hanging out of their mouths viciously. The pigs snorted and grunted, as if mocking Wilson's pathetic display of camaraderie with other monsters. 

Wilson's foot caught on a root and he toppled forward, landing on the grass with a hiss of pain. He tried to get up, his leg smarting from the fall, but one of the pigs reached him first and swatted his head with one of its clawed hands. A painful gash was opened at the side of his face and blood oozed out, seeming to send the pigs into a wilder frenzy. Wilson cried out at the slash, jerking back only to fall onto back. 

The two pigs reared above him, squealing in delight at having captured their prey. Wilson shut his eyes, refusing to see his death come at him. 

But the blows never came. 

The spiders had stopped chasing him, but one of them gave out a hideous screech and lunged at one of the pigs, piercing through its skin and fur with needle like fangs. The pig jumped in surprise and pain and howled in rage, swinging an arm to bat away the spider. The other spiders joined the fray, hissing. Soon enough, both parties were engaged in a personal revenge fight, with the spiders lunging and biting and the pigs swinging their furry fists in a violent fit. 

Wilson watched for a moment, dumbfounded but relieved. Not wasting a moment, he quickly made a makeshift torch, cringing as darkness quickly obscured the fighting. He heard the pained and shocked squeal of one pig, and then felt a shuddering thud on the ground. Wilson took that as a signal that one of the pigs had died and cringed, still hearing the slashing and punching in the dark. His torch barely made out the silhouettes of the monsters. Giving the battle one last look, Wilson wiped the blood running down the side of his face with his hand and turned around quickly, rushing through the dark before the monsters could turn their attention to him once more. 


	3. There and Back Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson discovers something awful about the dimension he is stuck in.

In the beginning, Wilson had made it a point to keep track of how many days he was stuck in the wilderness. As soon as he had found the resources to create a fire pit, he picked a nearby tree to start carving in lines. Each line counted as a day that he had spent - and survived - in this odd, new dimension. 

After a little over a week, however, it began to become burdensome. Wilson would stare at the cracks in the tree bark, hypothesizing how many days it would take to leave the wretched place, or how many days it would take for Maxwell to visit him, or how many days it would take for him to make a fatal mistake and die. The more the scientist stared at it, the more he could feel his sanity drifting from him. The dimension took its toll on him; staring at nothing but wild, tangled growth and having only birds, rabbits, and the occasional monster to remotely communicate with drained him mentally and physically. 

It had become harder to stay clean. Wilson had crafted a razor to slice off the itchy, black hair that would grow around his face every so often. That did little, however, to cushion the anxiety-filled nights, when Wilson would stay huddled to his fire pit, staring warily into the darkness. He would see things, or at least  _think_ that he did, move and shift in the night, white eyes flashing hungrily at him. Howls and moans would sift through the trees and Wilson would dig out his poorly made spear, holding it in front of him. 

Wilson rarely slept anymore; when he did, it was merely because his body could no longer take hours upon hours of running, working, chasing...Survival was exhausting. 

On the morning of what Wilson figured to be day eleven, the young scientist decided it was time to leave behind his "still in progress" camp. Really, all there was to it was a fire pit, a small chest to store excess resources and items, and a straw roll he kept around just in case he needed to catch a quick snooze during the night. It would serve as a good, temporary base when he needed it, but Wilson was tired of staying in the same spot, allowing the darkness and the wild to slowly consume his sanity and strength. 

Shifting his hands through his backpack, Wilson made sure to stock enough food to last him a good three or four day journey.  _Carrots and berries again,_ he thought dully to himself. What a joy. He needed to  _make_ something, something that would help him craft better tools for surviving this world. 

"I need a machine for science." Wilson said aloud to no one in particular. "I can't...I can't  _take_ running around like a starved animal anymore. I was meant to build things, not stand stupidly in one place." He winced, placing his hands to his temple as he felt his head pound and his vision swim. He was just so  _tired._ Every night seemed to beat more and more out of him, leaving him feeling like a mental husk at the start of every morning. He needed to find something to take his mind off the misery of his new reality. 

When he was satisfied that he had the materials and resources necessary to make the journey, Wilson hoisted the backpack over his shoulder and began trudging away from camp. Already feeling slightly better at the chance to stretch his legs and explore, Wilson began whistling. The notes were short and off key and were not to any tune in particular, but it gave him some hope that things would maybe start looking better once he found what he needed to make any kind of 'science machine'. 

It was later into the evening that things -  _surprisingly -_ went wrong. 

Wilson continued to walk along a narrow, cobblestone path that he had discovered early on in the forest near his first camp. The scientist spotted a pig camp, with five pig houses situated comfortably next to each other. He shied away from it, remembering the almost fatal mishap in his quest for what turned out to be meat he really shouldn't be eating anyways. The scratch was still along his cheek, and he touched it gently. It no longer hurt, and there was no one to even really see it, but Wilson felt self-conscious about it regardless. 

It was when he had walked some ways past the pig houses that he heard the first howl. He froze in his tracks. It was long, piercing, and followed by a series of grunting snarls. 

"Are. You. Kidding. Me?" Wilson put a hand to his face, feeling a mixture of irritation and fear tangle inside of him. This was  _just_ what he needed; more monsters terrorizing the living daylights out of him! 

Another howl pierced the air, much closer this time. Wilson took that as his clue to start running. 

The air was moist and humid. Sweat clung to the scientist's skin, beads running down his face. He wiped raggedly at them, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he heard a sudden rabid panting behind him. He glanced behind him and his eyes widened. Three dog-like creatures rushed out of the brush. They were surprisingly short and their brown fur would have made them look almost cute. But then they snarled and snapped their large jaws and Wilson saw the razor sharp fangs protruding in their mouths. Their eyes glared at him, vicious and bloodthirsty.

 _Nope,_ Wilson decided there and then.  _Definitely_ not  _cute._

They chased him down the cobblestone path, until it disappeared and the scientist had to make a decision as to where to turn. He feinted left, but then made for the right, hoping to fool the hounds. The beasts were nimble on their legs, however, and turned quickly, making a beeline for Wilson's new path. 

In the midst of running, Wilson shoved one hand in his backpack, desperately trying to find his spear, or flint, or anything to help fend off the wolves. And then his heart sank in his chest as he realized with dread that he  _didn't have anything to make a fire with._

Wilson groaned out loud, wanting to slap himself. How could he have been so  _foolish_ as to forget grass and wood!? He had an ax with him; he could chop down a few trees and hopefully find a couple tufts of grass to make a campfire. But not with the hounds chomping at his heels behind him. 

His lungs were bursting with pain and he could feel his body beginning to tire. The hounds chased him relentlessly, foam and drool frothing in their mouths and flying in the air. Wilson moaned in frustration, his muscles screaming, his mind trying to push him forward. 

The sun sank behind the trees and darkness descended upon him. 

Heaving with exhaustion, his legs gave out from under him and he collapsed to the ground. The taste of leaves and dirt filled his mouth and he panted, spitting the material out. Seconds later, large, sharp claws sliced into his back. Chunks of flesh were torn out, stripped right from his back, and Wilson screamed in agony. His fingernails dug into the ground, gripping the dirt desperately as fangs dug into his exposed flesh and tongues lapped at the blood oozing from wound. 

For about half a minute, there was only the sound of flesh being torn off and chewed and the gurgling groans emanating from Wilson's throat. The scientist's head dropped to the ground; he could feel hot, wet blood pooling in his mouth. And then suddenly, there was a hissing sound, dark and foreboding. Wilson could see nothing, but felt something large and very evil approaching. His heart hammered in his chest even as he bled to death and was being eaten alive. 

Something whacked him on the head, tearing carelessly at his skin. In the same heartbeat, something smooth but cold punctured through his chest. Wilson gasped, blood dripping out of his mouth. The cold entity pulsed agonizingly inside of him, until he his entire body went numb and all the pain blissfully disappeared as he dropped into peaceful oblivion. 

****************************

"Say, pal, you don't look so good." 

Wilson knew those words. He knew  _who_ they belonged to. But if he was dead, what was  _he_ doing here?

"You better find something to eat before night falls."

His eyes flew open. Wilson sat up abruptly. His vision swam alarmingly and he shut his eyes. His head pounded, seemingly drilling holes in every corner of his brain. 

"Mmm. First death by hounds; not a good way to go, was it?" 

Wilson opened his eyes again, peering into Maxwell's smug, infuriating face. He turned his head, seeing the flowers, the grass, the trees...

The scientist flinched suddenly, remembering the sharp claws digging through his back. They had  _eaten him alive_ and yet...He felt his back frantically, searching for signs of the attack. He pushed underneath his red vest, fingers mapping his back, but all he felt was smooth skin. No torn chunks. No punctures. Everything felt..normal. Physically, Wilson felt fine. Better than he had been feeling on the day he'd died. 

He had  _died._

Wilson glanced back up at Maxwell, who stood there puffing on his signature cigar. The older man's eyes glinted with amusement. 

"I  _died."_ Wilson stated, shaking. He didn't know whether it was out of fear or anger. The scientist stood up, glaring at Maxwell. "I died but I am somehow alive. And unharmed." 

Maxwell chuckled, tilting his head slightly to look down at Wilson as he walked up to the taller man, eyes brimming with anger. "Explain this now. " Wilson demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"And give away my secrets, pal? Where is the fun in that?" The man began to circle Wilson; the stench of his cigars surrounded the scientist, almost suffocating him with the intensity of the smell. "You are the scientist; how about you guess what happened?" 

Wilson frowned. There was no way he could have possibly survived that attack; he had literally been eaten alive. He had no means of staying alive or reviving himself. Something or someone else would have needed to have...to have...

"You resurrected me." Wilson said. Maxwell grinned.   
  
"Huh. Seems that mind of your is still kicking after all, pal!" The older man paused behind Wilson. 

"How?" Wilson asked, turning around to face Maxwell. "How is that even  _possible?"_

Maxwell smirked. "There are many things that I am capable of, Higgsbury. Some things which would drive you insane if I revealed to you how it worked." He lazily flicked a finger at Wilson's head to emphasize his point. Wilson scowled, craning his head away. 

"I am starting to wonder whether I am already insane." Wilson admitted. The thought had crossed his mind more than once; all the weird creatures and odd events he had seen thus far all seemed to conclude that either he really was in another dimension or he was professionally insane. 

A part of Wilson hoped he was professionally insane. Or that he was in a coma. 

Judging from the amused grin curling at Maxwell's lips, Wilson knew the answer was neither of those options. 

"It has only been your first death, pal. Give it time and maybe you will be." 

Wilson opened his mouth to retort, but Maxwell simply gave him a 'friendly' wink and then disappeared in his classic puff of smoke. 


End file.
